


A Mutual Accord

by Alobear



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alobear/pseuds/Alobear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I know loads of people have written this missing scene, but I couldn't help it, okay?  Takes place between Solo giving Illya back his watch, and them burning the disk on the balcony.  I've used bits of dialogue from the movie, but I'm working from memory, so it may not be exactly accurate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mutual Accord

**Author's Note:**

> So, to absolutely nobody's surprise, my plan to expunge MFU from my brain by going to see the movie again today - did not work. Sigh...

“Oh, I almost forgot…” Solo spun round and, for a split second, Illya wondered if had seriously screwed up. “I got something for you.”

A small object flew through the air towards him and Illya caught it instinctively. He looked down in disbelief at his father’s watch, then hastily put it back on where it belonged. It settled into place and the constant nagging feeling of loss, that had been present since it had been taken, melted away.

Illya glanced back up to see Solo watching him, a slight smile playing across his lips.

“Do you know what my mission is?” he asked the American, deflecting away from his vulnerability of a moment before.

“Same as mine, I imgaine.” Solo shrugged. “Kill me if necessary. To get that.” He gestured at the computer disk, which lay so innocently on the bedspread.

Illya regarded the object with dread. It was so small to hold the fate of the world. And, regardless of how he felt about the situation, it remained unresolved.

“So, what do we do?” he asked, looking back at Solo.

He supposed, since the disk was currently in Solo’s possession, it was actually up to him to decide what to do, but all he knew was that he didn’t want to carry out the instructions he had been given. There was a completely trashed hotel room downstairs to attest to that. Illya was used to the sudden onset of his rage, but the intensity of it at that moment had surprised him.

Solo started moving slowly across the room towards him, and he felt an entirely different feeling start to build low in his belly. The American moved with a sinuous grace, his eyes locked on Illya’s, and Illya found himself frozen in place. Solo could have pulled a gun in that moment and shot him dead, and he wouldn’t have been able to move a muscle to stop him.

“We’ll think of something,” Solo said, in a low voice, coming to a halt only a few inches away.

There was an expression in his eyes that Illya hadn’t seen before; desire mixed with concern. Solo reached up slowly and brushed his fingers over the scrape on the side of Illya’s head.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Peril?” he asked, repeating his question of a few moments earlier.

“That?” Illya was surprised by the concern. “Is nothing.”

“What about your chest?” Solo continued, bringing his hand down to rest over Illya’s heart.

“What about it?” Illya was confused and a little wary. He felt his breath speeding up slightly, not quite sure where this was leading, or in fact where he wanted it to lead.

“Well, you did drown, less than 48 hours ago,” Solo pointed out.

“Oh, that.” Illya cleared his throat self-consciously. He didn’t want to think about that; the cold and the darkness, and the gradual fading of the world, until strong arms had wrapped around him and brought him back. He shivered at the memory, then mirrored Solo’s gesture by placing his own hand on Solo’s shirt, and turned the tables on him.

“What about yours, Cowboy?” he asked, his voice coming out unexpectedly low and rough.

“My chest?” It was Solo’s turn to look confused.

“Your heart,” Illya elaborated. “No ill effects from repeated electrocution yesterday?”

“Oh, that.” Solo echoed Illya’s own words back to him, then gave a hollow laugh as if trying to dismiss the horror of what had happened to him. “Neck’s a bit stiff,” he said breezily. “Those straps were quite tight.”

Illya felt himself begin to smile. They were both as bad as each other, not wanting to admit weakness, even though they had both been through the wringer over the last few days. He remembered how sick he had felt, looking through the window of Rudy’s lab and seeing Solo strapped to that awful chair.

“To be honest,” Solo said and, for once, actually sounded it. “I really don’t want to think about it.”

He moved yet closer, trapping both their hands between them, then tilted his head up and closed his eyes. The invitation was clear, and Illya found himself leaning down without consciously deciding to move. Their lips met in a surprisingly gentle kiss that lasted only a moment before they broke apart again. Illya opened his eyes to see Solo looking up at him, his pupils dilated, his expression thoughtful.

“Hmmm,” Solo said. “Not a bad start. But I think we can both do better than that. Don’t you?”

They undressed each other, slowly, between kisses, until they were both shirtless. Illya ghosted his fingers over an impressive set of bruises that ran down Solo’s side.

“When was that?” he asked.

“That,” Solo replied, rolling his eyes, “was when I followed you out that window at the lab.”

“Sorry,” Illya mumbled. “It looked like the water came right up to edge of building. I managed to turn dive into roll.”

Solo indicated a large bruise that marred Illya’s opposite side. “Is that from the motorcycle earlier? It doesn’t look fresh enough.”

Illya glanced down at his own body, trying to remember. Then he snorted.

“No,” he said, ruefully. “That was Gaby.”

“Gaby?” Solo exclaimed, incredulous.

“Yes,” Illya replied. “She tackled me and knocked me over onto edge of coffee table, our first night in the hotel.”

Solo’s left eyebrow rose towards his hairline. “Really? Now, that’s a tale I must hear sometime.”

Illya shrugged. “It’s not so interesting. She was very drunk. She actually fell asleep right after.”

“Oh, dear me,” Solo smirked. “I’m going to have to tease her about that. Now, where were we?”

Illya did have some sore spots from coming off the motorcycle, and Solo was equally battered from his fight with Alexander Vinciguerra, so they explored each other quite carefully, eventually moving to the bed.

Some time later, Solo reclined on top of the covers, his head propped up on one hand. Illya stretched out next to him, and they were both focused back on the computer disk, which lay between them.

“Well,” Solo drawled, “I think we can both agree that that was far preferable to trying to kill each other.”

Illya nodded in silent agreement; it certainly had been a delightful distraction, but now he was back to worrying about what they were going to do.

“We still do not have plan,” he said quietly.

Solo looked up to meet his gaze, and a light slowly dawned behind his eyes.

“We could burn it,” he said.

Illya stared at him. “We could do this?”

“Why not?” came the reply. “Once it’s destroyed, that’s it. What could anyone do?”

“Okay,” Illya said, decisively. “Let’s do it.”

XXXXX

Out on the balcony, the tape from the computer disk crackled as it burned.

“Absolutely hated working with you, Peril,” Solo smirked.

Illya grinned at him. “You are a terrible spy, Cowboy.”

THE END


End file.
